


Main Vocal

by NorthStar



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, So much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:17:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8213872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthStar/pseuds/NorthStar
Summary: In between deafening fanchants, rising sales and approving looks, there is that one little voice reverberating through his head, repeating it again and again until he believes it - he is not good enough.Kihyun used to think he was good enough. Until he suddenly isn't.





	

**Author's Note:**

> #letkihyunlive2k16
> 
> I'm sorry but this boy receives so much shit for things that are beyond his control and it's really frustrating. And with the new comeback, I just keep seeing comments about line distribution and promotional biases, and I'm just. Please. Leave him alone. The industry has been pretty hard on him from day one, and I wasn't going to turn this into an actual piece, but it just happened. Whoops.
> 
> I know I'm stepping on some feet with this one, and I usually don't write canon compliant fics about rlps - I'm not comfortable with the invasion and speculation of privacy, and I don't know nearly enough about what goes on behind the scenes to provide a holistic and truthful representation.
> 
> I also know that this isn't terribly well written - it was rushed for various reasons, but excuses, excuses. I hope it's still intelligible.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with these people, nor do I claim to represent them. Everything is ficticious, and should be read accordingly.

The thing about being a main vocal, is that the position comes with a lot of attention, responsibilities and expectations.

 

Kihyun knows this.

 

Kihyun _thrives_ on this.

 

But there are times when he just wants to run away from it all, when his throat hurts too much, his back aches and his head pounds, the anonymous abuse rolls in, when he is just too tired to keep up even a false smile and brittle laughter, and he wonders, for a second –

 

Why?

 

He could never question his passion for singing. It’s what he does, it’s what he lives for, and he knows he has to be grateful for this opportunity to live his dream every day, to be able to go up on stage and feel the adrenaline and the pulses in his vocal chords as he pours out that passion to the world. It’s just – sometimes the externalities become too much.

 

He wanted to sing, and that was what he signed up for. In the back of his mind, he knew it came with other tasks, other responsibilities and demands that went far beyond where his voice could get him.

 

And he thought it would be alright.

 

Until suddenly it isn’t.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

None of them have forgotten the scars from _No.Mercy_ , not entirely.

 

Changkyun has it the worst, Kihyun knows. It’s not okay, and he feels guilty when his mind wanders back to those days before there was a Monsta X, before the world knew his name – before he released a song.

 

He isn’t proud of his behaviour towards Changkyun back then, but neither are the other members, and Changkyun continuously reassures them that it’s alright, he’s forgiven them and forgotten it all.

 

It’s a lie, and they can see it plainly on his face – but eventually, they learn to let it slide, if nothing else, then for the sake of their group dynamic.

 

If he has a soft spot for Changkyun, Kihyun allows him the dignity of granting it because of his person and not his unfortunate situation.

 

There are other things from _No.Mercy_ that still haunts him at night, when he lies awake and stares at the ceiling, listening to the soft snores of the other members and the muffled noise of never-ending traffic on the streets below.

 

The first image burned on his retina is Kwangji’s smiling face. Kwangji, with his mellow, measured rap that fits Kihyun’s dramatic vocals so perfectly. Kwangji, always knowing what to say when the other trainees felt down. Kwangji standing over the stove, cooking for the others and cleaning up after them with a subtle warmth that not even Minhyuk manages to match.

 

He left them as they remember him – smiling and encouraging, and right before walking out that door, he came up to Kihyun and gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, long but gentle.

 

“You’ll take care of them for me, won’t you?” He had said back then. “They’ll need someone else who knows how a household works.”

 

He wanted to shake his head, tell Kwangji that no, he couldn’t ever hope to be his replacement – sure he could cook and clean, of course, but he wasn’t as naturally compassionate, didn’t see a sad face and immediately understand what to do, he couldn’t _take care_ of these boys – but he didn’t have the heart to refuse Kwangji after all. He owed him that much, for their friendship and the numerous times Kwangji had been there for him – for moving on in the competition while Kwangji did not.

 

So instead he nodded, slowly but purposefully, and Kwangji had smiled at him again, so brightly, fondly, and pulled him into one final hug.

 

After that he tried. Tried to be the second ‘mom’, because that was what the younger boys always called Kwangji. He made them noodles and woke them up in time for school or rehearsals, and that was alright, he could do that – but he wasn’t as relaxed as Kwangji, and half his admonishments came out as rebukes, sarcastic remarks or just plain nagging.

 

If Kwangji was the good mother, then he was the evil stepmother.

 

Kihyun knows how that fairy tale usually ends.

 

He couldn’t fill Kwangji’s shoes, or ignore the ache in his chest when he looked at the empty bed in the corner.

 

But that was alright – he could live with it, for a little while, until the group settled down again, became reacquainted with each other for the sake of their new roles and developments. He could learn to cope, even if he knew he could never reach that undeniable, unreachable standard Kwangji had set for substitute parents looking over a rowdy group of boys. And for all their complaints, the other trainees never really expected him to pick up all of Kwangji’s self-imposed duties in the dorm with the same amount of gentility, patience and understanding as he had. They knew Kihyun from training sessions, after all – knew of his desire for results, perfection, his individualistic tendencies and inherent expectations from others.

 

It wasn’t what they used to have, and that was a gaping hole in the group, but they could make it work.

 

It was a new domain, new role for Kihyun, but at least everyone knew and tried to accommodate the change.

 

The missions were worse.

 

Far worse.

 

He didn’t understand at the time, what he did wrong, why they always insisted on beating him down after his performances.

 

From the very first one – the ranking, where he screwed up, sure, but even the first mission, the first solo stage -

 

He was confident in his singing, he knew he was good – probably the best out of the trainees, if he could be so bold. His performance wasn’t flawless, of course not, and he knew where he went wrong. But it was still a good presentation, and the guest judges praised him, told him how good his voice was –

 

But all of that vanished from his mind once K.Will started to talk.

 

Telling him how he failed, how he should do better, and it was just so confusing, because didn’t this man praise another vocalist who performed a much less demanding song with a smaller stage presence just now?

 

Or did he just misinterpret his own abilities that much?

 

He thought he’d reach the top, but even Hyunwoo outperformed him, ranked higher, and that – that stung. He was so sure he could out-sing Hyunwoo any day of the week, but apparently the judges disagreed.

 

It was the same next time – he knew they delivered a flawed performance, an _awful_ performance, knew it wasn’t as good as it should have been. But his voice didn’t sound bad, he hit his high notes and demonstrated a versatility he thought they would appreciate for sure. It was something different than a ballad, it was something that would suit Hyunwoo’s style better, even if the technical requirements were quite challenging.

 

They should be able to do this kind of song if they wanted to debut, right? That was their logic.

 

The feedback session that day was a shit storm he’d rather forget. But he couldn’t disagree – the performance was not good. But that was the performance, the seams of their dance and the song, cooperation, external factors he could handle being criticized for, but when they attacked his _singing -_

 

And still he placed number one in vocals.

 

It didn’t make any sense. The rankings said that they knew he was the best vocalist, regardless of one bad performance. But the reviews said otherwise.

 

He didn’t know what to do to please the judges anymore.

 

The recording session was the same – Soyou was harsh, much more than what her sweet countenance suggested, and even after they finished, she made sure to remind him about how privileged he was, how hard he had to work, how much you had to endure to make it big.

 

It was terrifying.

 

Then came the team assignments, and he tried to be a good team player – avoiding emphasizing his own abilities at the cost of his members, giving them advanced parts where they could really shine – nothing really helped.

 

They consistently rated him the best vocal, but it seemed irrelevant, because his overall rank was stuck somewhere behind rappers and other vocalists, Hyunwoo, Hoseok – and it’s not like he fucked up the dancing either, did he? He’s not the best, but he’s not the worst, so he thought he did alright.

 

But better to be ignored than chewed up, he figured. Silver linings, and all that.

 

He gave up that night they said Seokwon sounded better than him.

 

It was petty, and he should have been happy for his friend’s achievement, but he was just too tired of trying to be good enough, trying to work his way around the criticism the judges insisted on shooting his way even if they all knew he was good enough.

 

Constructive criticism.

 

That was what it was supposed to be, but he didn’t hear anything but rejection in their words, and he started doubting his abilities before they were even halfway through the show.

 

It had been Hoseok who pulled him along during that time.

 

“Come on, everyone knows you’re the best singer, but that doesn’t make good TV,” he said with a grin, and Kihyun wondered how he could stay so happy when his own feedback had been less than stellar so far. Especially considering how sensitive Hoseok usually was – Kihyun didn’t expect him to be this cheerful. “The viewers will see what they need to see – and in the meantime, the rest of us get to breathe up your not-quite-perfect back. Win-win from the judges’ side, really. But hey, you do realize that this is about overall ranking in an idol group, right? Not just vocal abilities?”

 

“Are you insinuating that I’m not suitable for an idol group?” Kihyun had frowned, nudging him too-softly and without any bite. Hoseok only chuckled and ruffled his hair.

 

“Maybe they don’t think you’re cute enough.”

 

“I pierced my ears for this company.” He scowled up at Hoseok’s adorned ears. “And I actually considered that a sacrifice.”

 

“Each to their own,” Hoseok gave a dramatic sigh. “That’s not being cute though, but you get points for trying. Maybe it’s your unappealing personality.”

 

“Try again, asshole.”

 

“Have you seen yourself dance?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Not pretty.”

 

“I’m not _that_ bad – “

 

“Dude, you’re a _sack._ ”

 

“Gunhee’s worse!” He didn’t even feel bad pointing it out. It was a well-known and well-accepted fact – Gunhee can’t dance. It used to be a running joke in the dorms, until they joined a survival show where his dancing would be put under scrutiny as well as his lyrics. “And it’s not like – Jooheon isn’t a dancer either, and he still ranks as number one.”

 

“Jooheon is better than you, sorry,” Hoseok shrugged. “And he’s a special case.”

 

“Gunhee as well?” Kihyun huffed. “I don’t see why rappers don’t have to bring the full package but vocalists do.”

 

“Stop sounding so prissy!”

 

And maybe Hoseok did get tired of the copious amount of angst and complaints, but he never made Kihyun feel worse about it, always listened patiently and distracted him when it got too bad. And Kihyun knew how to return the favour – when Hoseok fell ill just before their first challenge together, he had skipped vocal practice to take him to the hospital, he always made sure to save food for him, drag him away from the gym during late nights, or at least accompany him on days their schedules allowed them. It wasn’t much, but Hoseok appreciated it nonetheless – Kihyun could tell, because Hoseok was always very vocal about his affection and gratitude towards other people.

 

It was one of the things that made Hoseok’s very existence such a _relief_ in Kihyun’s life, and he wouldn’t hesitate to call him his best friend in Starship.

 

He felt bad for complaining about his feedback and ranking to someone who was a part of the same game, who didn’t _deserve_ the harsh critiques he received on the same stage (at least Kihyun must have done something that warranted the negative feedback, right? Right?), but Hoseok never batted an eyelash and always brushed him off when he asked, rather opting to indulge Kihyun’s little rants about his own confusions.

 

Later, when Kihyun was less distraught, he would realize that this was Hoseok’s way of distancing himself from the events. Letting himself forget, just for a moment, his own problems by focusing on other people. But more than just that, he simply cared – cared for people besides himself, as if their future and wellbeing was as important to him as his own.

 

He was that kind of person – a _good_ person.

 

Kihyun wished he could be more like Hoseok, at times.

 

He was eternally grateful when the two of them could step on the podium together, a part of the same group despite everything – everyone they lost along the way.

 

But that was only the beginning.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Minhyuk is watching a fancam from a music show they attended last week while Kihyun absentmindedly stirs the pot on the stove. It’s late, far too late, and he is tired, but the members are all in equal states of exhaustion, and the least he can do is make sure everyone gets something nutritious to eat before going to bed. Tomorrow is going to be another long day, he knows it, even if the exact details of their schedule escapes him at the moment.

 

The others are in various stages of undress, in the shower, slumped over a couch in the next room, and the only one to keep him company is Minhyuk, but Kihyun can’t say he minds. Minhyuk talks enough for the two of them, provides a running commentary for the music show he’s found, and doesn’t have the excess energy to do more than hum in agreement or chuckle at the appropriate places.

 

He does pay attention to their performance, though, at least the sound of it, and it’s not exactly as he wanted.

 

He wrinkles his nose when he hears his own voice tremble and crack at the climax of the song, painfully obvious even over the shrill sounds of fanchants and screaming girls in the audience.

 

Minhyuk hears it too, and his reaction is a mix of a wince and a cackle.

 

“Ouch,” he says and raises his eyebrows mirthfully at Kihyun. “That’s Monsta X’s main vocal. Thank heavens they have _some_ members who can sing, we wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong impression, right?”

 

“You’re just jealous you didn’t have enough parts to have a chance of messing up,” Kihyun says, and he hopes he sounds cheeky enough to cover up any visual signs of the sinking feeling in his stomach.

 

Luckily, Minhyuk takes the bait and proceeds to read out random comments praising himself while Kihyun replays the sound of his failed high note again and again in his head. He knows exactly when that was, and what he did wrong. It was a fluke, and he shouldn’t have flukes, it’s just simply that – he isn’t good enough. He was tired, maybe not as focused as he should have been, and then he heard the shift in his voice before he even felt it.

 

If he could, he would have run away right then and there.

 

But they were on a stage, singing in front of thousands of people, and he had to see it through, had to keep facing the camera with the blinking red dot as if he is staring at the audience and daring them to call him out on his mistake.

 

He’s never been good with embarrassing situations – everything would have been so much easier if he didn’t have such a stubborn pride, if he could laugh these things off.

 

He can’t.

 

And the music industry won’t laugh it off either.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

“Kihyun-ah,” their choreographer comes up to him as soon as the song ends, halting his escape towards the cool relief of the floor and a refreshing bottle of water. He looks up questioningly, dutifully, and braces himself for whatever rebuke he is sure to get at this point. “You know the moves well enough, but you’re dragging your feet. Why aren’t you doing the jump properly before the chorus?”

 

“It’s…” Kihyun swallows the dryness in his throat and tries to ignore his discomfort. He had hoped no one noticed, but of course they would. They aren’t aiming for mediocrity; they are still considered rookies, from a minor company and without any notable promotional perks that can broadcast their faces. They can’t afford to be anything less than perfect. The other members feel it as well, and Kihyun has spent countless hours rubbing Hoseok’s back when he questions their value to their fanclub, cooking midnight snacks for Changkyun when he doubts his popularity versus eliminated members like Gunhee and Kwangji, and staying back with Minhyuk to help him stabilize his vocals. They are trying so hard, and Kihyun has no right to let them down. Not now, not when they are this close – one feet inside the door, fragile presence and tentative efforts.

 

“My part in the chorus comes up right after that,” he says eventually, but it sounds like such a feeble excuse, and he averts his eyes as he says it. “It’s a strong section, I can’t be breathless for it.”

 

It’s true, it really is. The chorus needs to be on point, and Kihyun has the largest part, longest part, highest part. The entire song will sound off if he screws up the chorus.

 

But their choreographer looks thoroughly unimpressed, and Kihyun realizes that this, this is a barrier. A barrier for him as the main vocalist, a barrier for Monsta X as a music group. If their main vocal isn’t able to dance while singing, do they really deserve to move up in the hierarchy? All of their seniors have amazing power vocalists, people who are able to belt out note after note while performing complicated choreography and amazing tricks. Kihyun isn’t a dancer, he is just alright, but he must be more than alright if they are to move on in the industry.

 

Maybe this is what the rankings meant in _No.Mercy._

 

“Then train harder,” the choreographer says, and Kihyun winces a little. “Train until you are able to do both the dance and your singing parts. This isn’t an excuse, you’re an idol now, you have to keep up. The other members are doing their parts fine! Look at Jooheon, his parts are just as long, but he isn’t complaining.”

 

He can feel Jooheon wince across the room, god bless him, but Kihyun nods quietly, and the next time they run through the song, he makes himself do the jump and big motions with as much fervour as the other members, but he also feels his breath catch, chest heaving, and he can’t really focus on anything besides keeping up with the fluidity of the dance.

 

He crashes against the wall afterwards and gratefully accepts the water Hoseok hands him, but he wonders, how is he going to combine this intense dance with his equally demanding singing once they actually go out to do it live?

 

He stays at the studio late that night.

 

And the night after.

 

And the night after.

 

Weeks later and Kihyun does manage to do the same demanding dance as his members, and his voice doesn’t waver once during their comeback stage. It’s perfect, everyone were perfect, and Kihyun repeats this to himself as he stumbles and falls down the stairs backstage and Hyunwoo has to carry him to their waiting room.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Everyone wants to be at their best, and no one wants to be reminded of their shortcomings.

 

It hurts to be told that you’re not good enough, explicitly or implicitly, and Kihyun sees Hyungwon and Minhyuk’s faces fall when they get the scores for their new songs.

 

“Two lines?” Hyungwon mumbles to himself with a small frown, as if he doesn’t want to point it out, as if it is a direct attack on his vocal abilities.

 

Kihyun doesn’t say anything as he stares at his sheet, the chorus highlighted in bright yellow, making up roughly half the page. But then he compares the lyrics to the score sheet, plays out the melody in his head, and, yeah, it’s probably for the best that he has this part.

 

It just that it would have been nicer if it wasn’t so…. Long.

 

If it didn’t compare so badly to the others, and he feels a weight settle on his shoulders, because this has happened before, and he knows what it means. He knows what follows.

 

He tries to stay behind when the other members leave for their afternoon break, convinces Hoseok that he’ll be fine, that he just needs to practice his lines for a bit longer – it’s going to take a while, he doesn’t want to keep them waiting.

 

And Hoseok promises to save him some food, to drop by later if he isn’t back in due time, which basically means an hour. Kihyun just laughs and shoves him out the door, promising to text him to keep him updated. It’s silly, because they are too old to keep tabs on each other, but that’s just Hoseok, and Kihyun can’t say he doesn’t appreciate it, even if he feels the little gnaw in his chest at Hoseok’s sincere words, the look in his eyes that Kihyun doesn’t want to dwell on too much.

 

But to his surprise, Minhyuk invites himself into the little practice room ten minutes later, when Kihyun thought everyone else had left.

 

“Practicing by yourself?” He says and leans against the doorframe. Kihyun gives him a surprised look.

 

“I – yeah, well… Yeah,” he admits, truthfully. “I wanted to practice the new song some more.”

 

“You don’t think we practice enough?” Minhyuk glances down at the computer on the table in front of Kihyun, displaying the frozen video of past performances and brutal comment sections.

 

“No, you guys are fine,” Kihyun frowns and resists the urge to close the computer screen. Minhyuk has already seen it, anyway. “I just need to make this perfect.”

 

“I think you sounded good when we ran through it earlier. Don’t see why you need to keep going when everyone else are heading home.”

 

“No, no, I… I have to,” Kihyun says, shakes his head weakly. “I’m the main vocal.”

 

“Right.” Minhyuk crosses his arms. “But you know you’re not the _only_ vocal, right?”

 

“I’m…” Kihyun realizes what he just said, how Minhyuk might have interpreted it – he didn’t mean to sound condescending, like the other members are irrelevant, and he sees a barrage of remarks flashing before his eyes, complaining about line distribution, how Hoseok and Minhyuk and Hyungwon are sidelined because of Kihyun, unfairness and skill evaluations made by fans and outsiders alike, and he really doesn’t want to have this conversation with his members.

 

He can handle complaints on the internet. He can’t handle betrayed looks from his friends.

 

He didn’t chose this.

 

He just got handed a piece of paper.

 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly and shakes his head again. “It’s just… I mean, I get the most difficult parts, and I don’t want to mess that up. You guys are doing fine.”

 

“Because we have easier and shorter lines?” Minhyuk fires back immediately, and his tone is so unfamiliar to Kihyun that he doesn’t even understand what Minyuk is implying.

 

“I…” He starts, but it’s an argument he doesn’t want to have, and one he has imagined a thousand times in his nightmares, but now, he remains painfully unprepared. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Minhyuk. We both know I’m the strongest vocalist in the group, and I’m sorry that the management thinks that is a good enough reason to neglect you. But that means I have a responsibility to the fans and you to, I don’t know, do well. They trust me with the key points of the song and I have to do them well, or else our music isn’t going to be as good, that’s just how it is.”

 

“Cutting straight to the chase,” Minhyuk gives a small laugh and shakes his head. “Sure, I hear you. Not going to lie, that hurts a little bit, but I know it’s not your fault. You don’t have to apologize to us.”

 

Kihyun frowns at that, because it doesn’t sound – entirely like he expected.

 

“Hey, come on,” Minhyuk flings an arm around Kihyun’s shoulder, tugging him closer and for once, Kihyun actually does feel like he is the younger between the two of them – even if it’s only by a few days. “You’re the main vocalist, but you shouldn’t have to do all the work. The song isn’t going to be good if we fuck up either. All for one and one for all, right? All that jazz. Something. You don’t have to be that hard on yourself. I just wanted to make sure you’re not pushing yourself.”

 

Kihyun smiles.

 

But later, when he sits in a corner on the rooftop of their building, covered in a blanket of darkness, and replays their albums on his iPod and listens to the voices of the different members, he realizes that Minhyuk is wrong. He imagines Hyungwon singing out of tune for three seconds, but then it’s gone, and then Hoseok stumbles with a pitch, but no one remembers because Jooheon’s gunshot rap follows and eradicates such tiny mishaps.

 

Then he hears his own voice, and on the track, it sounds stable and full, clean, good. He is a bit proud of that, because he knows that there are no retouches on his parts post-production. But within the calm confines of a studio, recording with headsets and a calm location and several attempts, such a performance is to be expected. He imagines himself on stage, the other members next to him as they perform the old tracks once more. He hears his voice fall to a whisper, weak and unremarkable during the bridge, and then it cracks during the climax, and the performance is ruined. He sees another song, more on the hip hop side of things with heavy rap sections and only the occasional singing, but even there, Kihyun manages to mess up something – the single high note of the song, crashed by a trembling voice that sows doubt about Monsta X’s vocal abilities.

 

They are not things that have happened. But they could have.

 

He starts over again, tries to think about something else. About their seniors. How their voices are so strong, powerful enough to send shivers down Kihyun’s back. He tries to imagine his voice like that. Stronger, deeper, chilling. He still sounds like a boy, but he should sing like a man.

 

He likes his voice, though. He likes the sound of it, and he is proud of his abilities, but – should he be stronger? Lower, higher, huskier? Is that what the industry wants? Is that what their fans want – and his members?

 

Maybe they wish they had a different kind of main vocal – someone with another sound, another timbre, different specialties.

 

There is nothing he can do about that. But the thought remains in the back of his head – a big, fat _what if._

 

He tries to imagine Hoseok singing the chorus of their newest song. Hoseok’s voice is comforting, lovely, and sometimes Kihyun likes to just lean back against the walls of their studio and listen to Hoseok practice his singing.

 

But it’s not strong enough. Not yet, maybe? Or is it… No, Hoseok’s voice is softer than Kihyun’s, thinner, it would blend into the music too easily.

 

Hyunwoo’s voice is stronger. But still not strong enough. It’s a tough industry, and despite his technique and versatility, Hyunwoo doesn’t have the explosiveness their songs demand from a main vocal.

 

Hyungwon and Minhyuk are the same. It just wouldn’t do. Kihyun knows all of their voices as well as his own by now, and he tries to imagine them singing his parts in their songs. It’s okay, it works, but it’s not enough. Not to make them stand out like they need to.

 

He wishes it was enough, because he likes their voices, they sound beautiful and have so many different qualities that distinguish them from each other and his own.

 

But wishing doesn’t accomplish anything.

 

He comes back around to his own voice, listens to it play over the chorus once more, and he hopes that he is enough.

 

Minhyuk was wrong. They aren’t equally responsible for the qualities of their songs, harsh as that notion is.

 

But that’s the reality of things.

 

That’s what it means to be a main vocal.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

The article hits in the middle of a calm period with rest and easy schedules, and suddenly Kihyun’s life goes from manageable to disastrous.

 

It’s in the past, and it’s not even a big deal. Underage drinking and smoking is not as uncommon as the media makes it out to be, and most people know this.

 

It’s just, he is an idol.

 

An idol with a pure and innocent image, anyway, despite their group’s bad boy concept for debut. They constructed different stage personas for every member of the group, and the designers took one look at Kihyun’s short height, pouty lips and skinny arms before sticking the ‘cute’ label on him. He knows he isn’t portraying that character as well as he should, with his attitude and deep voice and just overall distaste for the notion of being adorable, but it’s still enough for the public to latch onto this presentation. And he’s getting better at it, certainly more convincing that just after his first aegyo broadcast during No Mercy.

 

Cigarettes and alcohol don’t match this image at all.

 

They call him a delinquent and assumes his illegal activities means he was, and still is, an aggressive and narcissistic criminal who shouldn’t be allowed to sing on stage in front of thousands of malleable young people. They are blowing it out of proportion, but there is nothing Kihyun can do to fix this.

 

Management took him aside for a long talk about responsibilities and self-presentation – never mind that this was way before he was even associated with Starship Entertainment. They tell him to lie low, never mention this to anyone, and refuse to talk about it if anyone brings it up in shows. They tell him, straight up, that he screwed himself over with this, because he is not only bringing his own name down into the dirt but also that of Monsta X.

 

He knows.

 

He doesn’t agree with the judgement passed on him at all – maybe it was illegal and he would surely not encourage anyone to do like him, but he was just a kid. He was allowed to make mistakes and honestly, this is not the worst.

 

But none of it matters, because the industry is merciless, and the smallest mistake can cost anyone their reputation and, by extension, their career.

 

His parents call him up a few days after it comes out, and they are furious, because he had clearly lied to them during this period, and they thought they raised him to avoid such things – doesn’t that reflect badly on them? How could he do something like that?

 

He apologizes profusely, but he knows it’s not going to be enough, that the next time he gets a break to go home – whenever that may be – he is going to get hell and more.

 

But there’s nothing he can do about that.

 

He doesn’t get a break at the dorms either.

 

The members are awkward about it.

 

None of them mention it, but they don’t look him in the eye for days either, just skirting around him and addressing shallow comments or requests to the top of his head. It’s annoying, and he can’t help but feel slightly betrayed, because he already suffers from the wrath of the management and an enormous backlash from the public, but he thought he would have the members on his side, at least?

 

None of them knew him during that time, and while he hasn’t tried to hide it, by any means (what is there to hide) he hasn’t gone out of his way to talk about it either.

 

He doesn’t even know why they are upset.

 

Is it because they look at him differently now, a thug instead of a straight-laced vocalist? Are they angry with him for not talking to them about it before they could read everything in an online article? Or are they angry because he is giving Monsta X a bad reputation?

 

It’s probably the latter, and it’s also the only reason Kihyun can’t fight.

 

He tells himself he deserves it and endures the cold shoulders until things slowly bleed back to normal.

 

Hoseok is the only one who approaches him with anything resembling familiarity, comfort, warmth, and Kihyun knows it’s for several reasons – mostly the fact that Hoseok just simply doesn’t _care –_ but also because he has been there. Done that. He has been called a ‘delinquent idol’ already, has faced the cold shoulder, and it’s comforting to have him wrap his arms around his shoulders and hear the whispers that it’ll be alright, everything will blow over and they’ll forget.

 

Kihyun isn’t sure if he believes him, but he lets himself grip Hoseok’s shirt and nod into his chest regardless.

 

It feels better than objecting, anyway.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Fuck that show.

 

Fuck that guy.

 

Fuck everything, Kihyun thinks to himself as he storms out of the van and towards the entrance to their dorm without waiting for the other members. He punches in the code quickly, and the others are piling up behind him, shuffling and mumbling quietly to each other.

 

That’s awkward.

 

He’s not sure if they notice it as well, maybe they think he’s overreacting, but he hasn’t said a word during the ride home and instead blocked them all out with music as soon as the engine started up. If anyone thought twice about it, they didn’t question him. They all have times where they just want to be by themselves, have a break, calm down between the schedules, but this time Kihyun is upset, and he thinks they should realize why.

 

Or maybe they think public humiliation is an occupational hazard in the Korean pop industry.

 

Which is true, granted, but still…

 

It feels like a betrayal and it hurts.

 

They could have teased him about something else – something he is confident about, comfortable with, something he could actually act along with.

 

Not this. Never this.

 

It’s not like he doesn’t feel his tongue curling in his mouth every time he tries to maintain the cute façade. He’s not the most masculine in the group, and he is totally okay with that, but the innocent boyfriend image Starship pushed him towards demands a certain attention to details that Kihyun quite honestly doesn’t feel comfortable with. Despite the make-up and boy-ish concepts, he’s a grown man, not a toddler, and it feels demeaning to have to act like something he is not just to increase their popularity and diversify their appeal to fans. Granted, he appreciates it when girls coo at him and swoon from his so-called adorable charms – if this is what it takes to be liked, he will do his best. He’ll admit that. But it doesn’t feel real, and though they scream in adoration, they are just appreciating his act.

 

He’s gotten better at it. Really, he has.

 

But it’s still not real, and it’s not him. He wishes he could have promoted as just himself, but they all have different roles to play, and he got the straw equivalent to his height in the group.

 

It’s a shit time.

 

But it gets worse when his members tell him he’s being fake on national TV.

 

They should know why he’s behaving like that – they should know it’s not because he wanted to, but because he was told to act like that.

 

Instead they made him seem like something even more pathetic than a baby stuck in a man’s body.

 

The door makes a small sound as it slides open, and Kihyun opts for the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. It’s only three floors up, anyway. He hears the others follow, still quietly, and _would you look at that,_ maybe they’re catching on.

 

He is roughly four steps ahead of Hyunwoo when he hears Changkyun start to say something, only to be cut off by Jooheon, and they fall silent save for the echo of seven pairs of feet tumbling up the stairs.

 

It all feels very wrong.

 

They don’t fight often, not seriously anyway, and the arguments are usually half-resolved by the time either one of them have really caught what’s going on.

 

Kihyun doesn’t want to be the peacemaker today. He doesn’t even want to be complacent, and if that makes him petty, then so be it.

 

He curses the length of their door code when the others step up behind him, just like before, and he feels a hand on his arm as the door swings open. He shrugs them off and step inside, throwing off his shoes in the process, and –

 

“Kihyun, what’s the matter?”

 

They should know. They should fucking know.

 

They probably do – but they want him to say it, as if he is being unreasonable, as if they want to make him squirm because it’s silly, and in this moment, it’s infuriating.

 

“You know what’s the matter,” he bites out and heads towards the kitchen, because – well, whatever.

 

“Are you upset because of the show?” Hyunwoo frowns, following him, and the rest of them are hot on his heels, like a group of actual toddlers or ducklings after their mothers.

 

“You think I shouldn’t be?” Kihyun shoots back, pacing hesitantly, trembling, and it should be embarrassing, this aggressive display of emotion, anger, this _fit –_ it’s not going to change anything, he knows this, in the rational part of his brain, but he doesn’t care right now, because he just feels so _wronged,_ and they should know. They should know what they did to make him feel this way.

 

“Is this about the baby-thing?” Hyungwon frowns, and Kihyun just glares in his general direction. He doesn’t really look at Hyungwon’s eyes directly, he doesn’t want to. He just sees the tip of Hyungwon’s _perfect manly hair_ and remembers everything he said about how real men do this, say stuff like that, every single comment he made throughout the segment, and he just can’t deal with that.

 

“It was…” Hyunwoo trails off, frowns, and shakes his head. Kihyun vaguely registers the slight remorse on his features, but can’t make himself think of anything but _good._ Never mind that Hyunwoo actually didn’t join in on the teasing as much as the other members. They operated like a unit in there, a unit in which Kihyun didn’t belong, because someone else, someone outside the seven of them, decided that he was going to be – going to be _that._ “It was just for the show, you know.”

 

“Is that an excuse?” He snorts. “It doesn’t matter what you do because it’s just for show? It matters that little to you guys?”

 

“No, you have to understand –  “

 

“So here is another question,” Kihyun wrinkles his nose as he stares at the other members, all sporting various looks of confusion, annoyance, and thank god, guilt. “Who the fuck cooks for you? Cleans everything up, wakes you in the morning?”

 

“You enjoy doing all of that. It’s not like we would be helpless without you.”

 

“But none of you go out of your way to help me either. Am I being a helpless baby when I do all of this for you?”

 

“No, but you did do all of those things we mentioned,” Minhyuk tries to reason, and Kihyun slams his palms onto the counter, making someone jump – Jooheon, he thinks, but he doesn’t care.

 

“Yeah, I did something on camera, but apparently that doesn’t count, does it?” He feels a new hand on his shoulder.

 

“Hey, Kihyun, don’t be – “

 

“You know I don’t want to do that!” He shrugs out of Minhyuk’s grip and glares back at him. Moodmaker, happy face, sunshine smiles. That’s a dignified persona. Minhyuk has no right to throw this at him now. “You know it’s just because they tell me to!”

 

“We know, calm down,” Hoseok lifts his arms to pacify him, as if he’s being violent. He isn’t, he’s just bristling. Completely normal. “That’s why we’re making fun of it. Your cute character is very awkward – “

 

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not adorable enough,” Kihyun shoots back. “But unlike you, I’m not allowed to portray an image that resonates with who I am, so please excuse me if I’m struggling a bit to adapt to that.”

 

“No one’s accusing you of anything,” Jooheon interjects, and Kihyun would be amazed, because Jooheon hates confrontations. Maybe he feels guilty. He should. They all should.

 

“Like you’re one to talk,” Kihyun grits out, and maybe he would regret the wounded look on Jooheon’s face another time. “Apparently you’re allowed to be cute as an entertainer, but when I try, it’s just pathetic, right?”

 

“You’re being very sore about this, Kihyun,” Hoseok tries again as Hyunwoo steps aside, clearly not prepared for this kind of discussion. “You know we don’t actually think you’re a baby, right?”

 

“It doesn’t matter what any of us thinks behind closed doors,” Kihyun groans. Are they really this dense? Or is it just a defense mechanism – deny responsibility and downplay the consequences? Surely his group members are not that stupid.

 

Surely.

 

“Don’t you realize how much you guys just fucked me over during that show? As if it wasn’t enough that Brian picked me as his go-to victim, you had to go all out on me as well?” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but that was a thoroughly unpleasant time and I think you guys were acting like dicks.”

 

“You weren’t on your best behaviour either, you have to admit,” Hyunwoo points out, frowning at Kihyun’s obscenities, and wow, what a poor time to weasel yourself back into the argument, wise and fearless leader.

 

“I literally just defended myself!” He cries and throws his arms in the air. He is probably looking like a cartoon character right now, but whatever, as long as he doesn’t look like a _baby._ His impulse control is shot and he is prepared to let them have it.

 

“So you don’t think pushing the problem unto Hoseok-hyung was a little bit…” Jooheon considers his words for a second. “Cynical?”

 

“No,” he actually hisses, immediately, because there is no way they can rationalize this and pin the conflict on _him_. “I mean, look at the guy, no one is going to accuse him of anything like that. If you had let me push it over to someone else, none of us would’ve had to sit through that!”

 

“But that doesn’t have much entertainment value,” Minhyuk points out, and _screw him if he has a point._ Kihyun’s dignity is not a tool for their entertainment.

 

“Well, I’m happy you guys think we all got some sort of reward out of this,” he sneers and makes his way through the members and back into the hallway. “But I fail to appreciate the beauty of that sort of derogatory humour that is essentially mocking someone for losing their own independence.”

 

“Kihyun!” He thinks it’s Hoseok calling out to him, but he ignores them all as he slides on his shoes again and run out, slamming the door behind him.

 

Maybe he’s being dramatic.

 

Maybe he’s taking things out of proportion.

 

But he feels like the other members, his faux-brothers, as it were, have taken all of his insecurities and trampled on them, roughly, without even realizing that he might be hurt by it. Which is both affronting and sad – he thought they knew him better than this? Understood him?

 

Maybe he’s wrong.

 

It’s the middle of the night but Seoul never sleeps, not even on the outskirts, and he finds himself climbing the stairs to a small coffee shop a couple of blocks further down from their complex.

 

He pulls his hood up, not to hide his face, because they are not that famous yet, and the baristas probably know them well enough by now anyway, but to conceal his red hair. Avoid any glances. Let himself disappear like another anonymous customer.

 

The coffee burns on the way down, bitter, extra shot and steaming, but he welcomes the distraction. He must look very sad, huddled into an oversized hoodie, half slouched in a booth tucked away in the corners and just staring at the white porcelain in front of him.

 

He doesn’t notice when, a cup and a half later, someone slides into the booth next to him.

 

“So you look utterly miserable.”

 

“Changkyun…” Kihyun frowns and glances up. Changkyun is looking at him with one of those bemused, closed-off expressions he has, the ones that Kihyun is never able to interpret unless Changkyun lets him, and right now he doesn’t feel like trying.

 

He doesn’t feel angry with Changkyun, not really. Not when it’s just Changkyun, here, in front of him – Changkyun standing in between the other members, he could resent.

 

But this – he is reminded that Changkyun didn’t actually say anything bad against him. Not during the show, not after.

 

Not even when everyone else did.

 

The realization comes with a relief, and suddenly he doesn’t feel quite as alone anymore.

 

And then maybe he isn’t as isolated from the rest of Monsta X as he thought.

 

“I just wanted to see if you were okay,” Changkyun says eventually. “I mean, obviously not, but… At least you didn’t get hit by a car or anything in your haste to get away from Minhyuk’s evil eyes.”

 

Kihyun allows himself to chuckle a little at that. “No, I’d like to think I’m smarter than that. Thank you, though.”

 

“Of course.” Changkyun reaches out to grab Kihyun’s coffee, and actually takes a sip of it. Because he is a little shit like that, but Kihyun’s used to it by now. He appreciates it for what it is. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but the others are sorry – I mean, they maintain that you’re overreacting, but at least they feel bad that they did something to upset you.”

 

“At least they’re not completely hopeless.” He sighs, and glances up at Changkyun. It’s like the outburst and subsequent break has completely deflated him, and it’s such a tiring, regretful feeling. He doesn’t want to fight with the other members. He loves them – really, he does, most of the time. But they are different personalities, and sometimes they don’t get along as well as they should, probably. “We’ll be alright, don’t worry about it.”

 

“I wasn’t going to. I have faith in my hyungs.” Changkyun shrugs and flashes a bright smile, too cheerful, too casual for the hour.

 

It reminds Kihyun of something.

 

“It’s not that I’m not happy that you didn’t say anything bad…” He starts quietly and looks down at Changkyun’s knee. “But, you know, when the members… When any of us starts like that, you’re allowed to join in, right? Like… You’re allowed to be mean when everyone else are as well. We’re not gonna single you out and give you hell for it.”

 

“That’s not very convincing when you’re sulking in a coffee shop because the other members bullied you, hyung,” Changkyun points out. “I wouldn’t be here if I said something too, because then you’d be mad at me as well.”

 

“I suppose that’s true,” Kihyun sighs again and lets his head fall onto the table. “But I mean, we’re not going to be any more upset with you than anyone else. You don’t have to keep a low profile anymore, you’re just as much a part of this group as anyone else, and I don’t want you to feel… I don’t know, like you need to hold back because you’re afraid that we’ll conspire against you.” _Again._

“Nah, I’m good with that,” Changkyun says, and he sounds so relaxed and joyful that Kihyun believes him, for once – maybe his emotional capacities are shot for the night. “But I don’t see any reason to shout out nonsense if I don’t have anything useful to say. And they weren’t completely fair today, so I didn’t have anything to contribute. They just saw that Brian wanted to pick on you and jumped with it. Don’t know if you noticed, but Hoseok-hyung looked like he wanted to punch Brian at some points.”

 

“Why?”

 

“During the dance and when you and Jooheon-hyung were singing and stuff. I don’t know, I just don’t think he really liked Brian’s humour. Probably didn’t want it directed at himself, you saw how he freaked out during the chair segment.”

 

“I don’t know, Hoseok-hyung is usually more considerate than that,” Kihyun mulls quietly. “He probably… He probably thought I’d be okay with it.”

 

And that stings a little bit, again, to think that Hoseok wouldn’t recognize the hurt in Kihyun’s eyes when he called him out on it. Or maybe he did – he didn’t join in much after the first accusation, now that he thinks back on it.

 

It’s too confusing. He doesn’t want to be angry with Hoseok either. It feels too much like kicking a puppy, or something like ungratefulness.

 

He should probably forgive them all. He has given them something to think about anyway.

 

“Well, if you say so,” Changkyun shrugs and goes for Kihyun’s coffee again, but this time Kihyun slaps his hand away.

 

“No,” he admonishes gently, teasingly. “Too much caffeine isn’t good for you – “

 

“You have like, two cups already – “

 

“ – and we’re going home now, it’s way past your bedtime.”

 

“Is this the moment when I’m supposed to make a lewd comment about musical groups and babies?” Changkyun raises an eyebrow even as Kihyun ushers him out of the booth and towards the stairs lead to the street level.

 

“Not if you want breakfast tomorrow,” Kihyun retorts, and it’s easy, lighthearted, and they will probably be alright. They have to be.

 

“But thanks, Changkyun. Thanks for coming after me.”

 

“No problem, hyung.”

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Kihyun gets sick a lot.

 

It’s just a thing that happens. He is small, thin, and his immune system isn’t the best. The members make fun of his collection of vitamins and medicine and whatever else, but he’s always happy to shove it in their faces whenever one them gets sick and he magically produces whatever remedy they need within minutes.

 

But there are some things his medicine can’t fix.

 

It’s been a rough month – concerts, tours, shows and a comeback, and he feels the strain in his throat every time his vocal chords tense just a little bit. He doesn’t talk much these days, trying to preserve every last tendril of power for their performances, but it won’t last long. He is running on empty and just waiting for his voice to give out.

 

It does, on the way back home from a music stage.

 

It’s late, and Kihyun finds himself leaning heavily on Hoseok’s shoulder in the cramped van, probably dozing despite Jooheon and Minhyuk’s loud cries and yells. They are overcompensating, because everyone is tired, but the distractions are welcome and a nice touch.

 

Kihyun is vaguely aware of the buzz in the background, but he isn’t paying attention, not until Hoseok shakes him gently and whispers his name into his ear.

 

“Hmm?” It’s only a small sound, but they both hear how gravely he sounds, more than just thick with sleep, almost scratching and perfectly depicting the raw feeling in his throat.

 

Hoseok pats his hair once, softly, but doesn’t comment on it. “Are you hungry? Manager-hyung wants to know if we need to stop somewhere on the way back.”

 

“No, I’m good, I just – “ his voice sounds awful, deep and echoing and nothing like his usual smooth vocals, and it hurts to talk. It shouldn’t hurt to talk. “I’d like to go to sleep.”

 

“Okay, but don’t go into a coma before we get back,” Hoseok says, only half-jokingly. “I’m not carrying you up the stairs.”

 

He would. He has. But it’s just banter, anyways, and they both know it.

 

“You know, unlike some people – “ Kihyun starts but trails off awkwardly as his voice turns into a croak, squeaking a little before falling completely mute.

 

He feels Hoseok shift a little, looking down at him, probably, and he coughs a little to clear his throat and shake his vocal chords back into place.

 

But all that comes out is a sad whimper.

 

“Kihyun?” Hoseok asks, puts a cold hand to his neck and, oh, it feels so good. Cool. Relief. “You alright?”

 

He makes a little whining sound and buries his face somewhere between the layers of clothing covering Hoseok’s arms.

 

“Our main vocal is now mute,” Hoseok announces to the car, and Kihyun groans a little into his shoulder. Hoseok smells like musk, old aftershave and sweat. It’s not a sweet odour, but it’s familiar and sort of okay. “Hyunwoo-hyung, you’re next.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Kihyun musters the energy to lean forward and slap the back of Hyunwoo’s seat, making their leader chuckle warmly. He has about seven snarky comebacks to that simple ‘okay’, but instead, Kihyun has to settle for collapsing back against Hoseok, who only laughs and puts an arm up to laze on Kihyun’s hair.

 

“What, are you taking all of his lines? I want some too!” Minhyuk protests loudly, and Hyungwon elbows him in the ribs.

 

“Same,” he complains. “Minhyuk-hyung, you can have the adlibs. That should match your learning capacity well enough.”

 

“Disrespectful brat!”

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear, there must be something down there blocking your voice.”

 

“He called you short, hyung.”

 

“Wha – I know, maknae, shut up!”

 

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Hoseok tells Kihyun after the others have turned away from the backseat. “If anyone tries to steal your spot, I’ll kick their ass.”

 

Kihyun rubs his cheek on Hoseok’s shoulder gratefully, and that should be the end of it.

 

But he thinks about it for a while longer.

 

If anyone could steal his position, not just for a while, but for good.

 

Where would they be then?

 

Where would he be?

 

He keeps thinking about it later, as his tea is brews in the kitchen and he searches for his throat powder. He knows it’s not going to cure anything, but at least it should soothe the muscles and relieve the scratch he feels every time he breathes. The rest of the members are already well on their way to a heavy slumber, or at least that’s what he thinks, until Minhyuk comes up to him from behind and drapes a hoodie over his shoulders.

 

“I know this is like an overusage thing,” he says, in that particular way he has that makes even the most awkward sentences sound eloquent. “But you could catch a cold as well. The dorms get chilly at night, isn’t that what you always tell us?”

 

Kihyun looks at him over his shoulder, a little bit bewildered, but then he pulls the hoodie tighter around himself and bows his head gratefully. Minhyuk looks notably pleased with himself and ruffles Kihyun’s hair a little.

 

“You shouldn’t stay up too long either,” he continues, as if he has taken over the nagging baton when Kihyun is unable to complain. “Not sleeping isn’t going to help that exhaustion.”

 

Kihyun gives him a pointed look – exhaustion has been a staple in their lives since their debut, and it’s not going to disappear over a few hours of sleep, even if it’s all they can afford.

 

“Hey, don’t give me those eyes,” Minhyuk says, seemingly perfectly content to carry out the conversation by himself based on looks and gestures from the other party. “You know you’ll need it. If we’re lucky you’re back to roar at us in the morning.”

 

Kihyun snorts and goes back to his tea.

 

“Not that you need your voice to be condescending, apparently,” Minhyuk shrugs and sits down at the kitchen table.

 

Kihyun frowns at that and looks back at the bedrooms. Back at Minhyuk. Raises an eyebrow.

 

“What, can’t I keep you company?” Minhyuk smiles at him, brightly, even if Kihyun can see the dark circles under his eyes, the heavy slump of his shoulders and the pallor that didn’t come from a filter or bleached powder.

 

He points to the bedrooms again.

 

“Nope.” Minhyuk props his bare feet up at a spare chair and his smile turns into a grin, cheeky and entirely too convincing.

 

Kihyun sighs and puts his mug down at the table before scurrying off towards the couch.

 

Minhyuk calls out some question, but he doesn’t have the energy to try and come up with a non-verbal answer. By the time he returns to the kitchen table, he has a pair of (used) socks in his hand, and tosses them into Minhyuk’s lap with a stern look.

 

“I suppose that’s fair,” Minhyuk agrees and starts to put on the limp, worn socks. “Are these Jooheon’s?”

 

Kihyun shakes head and lifts his hand up to indicate a height, and taps his biceps after a second’s afterthought.

 

“Hyunwoo-hyung? Wow, I thought he had more sense than to leave his socks flying around the apartment.”

 

Kihyun snorts again, in agreement this time, and takes a sip of his tea.

 

He lets Minhyuk do his thing until Hoseok shows up, rubbing his eyes and lamenting their lack of self-preservation when they have schedules early in the morning. But his tone is all fondness and poorly concealed concern, and Kihyun goes out of his way to give both him and Minhyuk a small hug before running beneath his blankets to sleep away the throat ache.

 

It doesn’t hurt as badly anymore.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Their vocal session is completely fine, perfectly normal, Kihyun is hitting all the notes in all the right places until there is a knock on the door, and one of the PR & Image directors enters.

 

“I need a word with Kihyun-ah,” he says, to the vocal coach, ignoring Kihyun and Hoseok and Hyunwoo.

 

The man behind the keyboard frowns, but nods and gestures for Kihyun to follow the director out, and with a confused look at his bandmates, Kihyun obliges.

 

“Can you be back in thirty minutes?” The coach calls after them. “I need him to do harmonization with these guys.”

 

 _These guys._ As if they’re not –

 

“Sure, sure, this shouldn’t take long,” the director agrees and guides Kihyun out and into one of the small, isolated practice rooms nearby.

 

Kihyun shuffles a little, impatiently, and he wonders what this could be about. Had he done anything bad recently? He doesn’t think so. He usually follows every instruction carefully, dutifully – almost ridiculously so.

 

But then the director closes the door and turns to face him, considering, evaluating, and Kihyun feels like he really has done something wrong.

 

“We need you to work on your speech impediment,” the director says seriously, and something coils uncomfortably in Kihyun’s stomach.

 

“My speech impediment?” He echoes dumbly. The director nods.

 

“It’s alright for now,” he says slowly, as if Kihyun needs to be spoon-fed every important piece of instructions just to make sure he understands. “But we are thinking ahead. Your vocals are clean and crisp otherwise, but the failed s-sound becomes an interruption in the middle of central parts of your songs. It conveys a flawed image, we don’t want that. Monsta X needs to be perfect if your popularity is to rise. And you did alright on Masked Singer, if we can get you on Immortal Song or Duet Song Festival later and you do well, more people are bound to take notice. Maybe even a solo album, if you do well.”

 

Kihyun remains silent.

 

“Don’t you want to help your members?” The director presses, and he knows it’s hitting home, Kihyun can feel his resignation etched on his face, and he has to look away to preserve some sort of dignity.

 

“Yeah…” He says, quieter than he would have liked. “But I don’t know – I mean, I’ve always talked like this, and it’s been fine – “

 

“This is the point, Kihyun-ah,” the director interrupts. “We can’t settle with ‘fine’. We have to reach ‘perfect’, do you understand?”

 

He understands. He repeats it to himself, ‘perfect’, every night, when he thinks about their latest performance, any flaws during practice, scheduling, planning ahead, keeping up with the chores at the dorm. Everything floats around that concept, ‘perfect’.

 

But he didn’t think his pronunciation was a source of imperfection.

 

It’s a charm point, trademark or at least identifiable, like a well-placed birth mark or dialect. At least that was what he thought. Now, suddenly, it’s become a ‘flaw’ – a hindrance, something to be erased.

 

It’s a little humiliating. It’s like those other times, when they told him his eyes were too small and his cheeks too chubby, not tall enough, not charismatic enough, and it’s – no matter what he does, there is always something wrong with _who he is._

But maybe that’s the price for making it in the industry.

 

He mumbles out an agreement, wincing, and he can’t believe he’s agreeing to this after all.

 

But what else can he do?

 

The director must have assumed that he would agree – maybe he would have _forced_ him to agree, if he didn’t say yes immediately – and hands him a pile of papers, printed articles and instruction sheets on phonology, exercises, linguistic intricacies, appointments with speech specialists squeezed in between his already cramped schedule. And he feels his cheeks burn, because this is… It’s like he is some special needs child, like they are trying to teach him something he should have learned ten years ago, and it’s all kinds of degrading.

 

The director smiles at him, encouragingly, but it’s all fake and Kihyun sees the corporate lizard in him bask in the sunlight of shining won notes and praises from executives. He decides that he hates that director.

 

He doesn’t talk to the members about it when they go home. In fact, he doesn’t talk much at all that night.

 

The conversation made him so self-conscious, he can’t even speak without considering every word, every syllable, every sound as if everything that comes out of his mouth sounds abnormal and wrong. The director said he should practice speaking properly, but it’s hard, and he doesn’t want to do anything about it. But if he ignores their instructions now, they are going to notice, and suddenly he notices too, whenever he slurs the letters and his tongue feels too big for his mouth.

 

Changkyun helps him prepare dinner again, and he fills the silence with bad puns and the odd question every now and again, but Kihyun limits himself to short answers, nods or headshakes whenever possible.

 

“Hyung, are you alright?” Changkyun asks at some point, rinsing vegetables over the sink. When Kihyun glances over, he is frowning, and his fingers rub absentmindedly across the carrot in his hand, pushing away the dirt slowly and methodically.

 

He tries to smile.

 

“I’m fine,” he says quietly. “Only tired. Don’t worry about me, maknae.”

 

“Are you sure?” Changkyun raises an eyebrow. “You seem very… Lost in your own world.”

 

“I’m not lo – “ he cuts himself off for a second. “I’m here, not anywhere far away. Peel your carrot, we need dinner.”

 

If there is anything in Changkyun’s confused look, Kihyun chooses not to notice.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

It was Kihyun’s dream to be a singer. And now he is a singer, but he wants to be better.

 

He has found a new reason to be better as well; his members, six of his closest friends and pseudo-family. He wants to be better for them.

 

But sometimes, he doesn’t think that they see how hard he tries, and that they, too, only sees his flaws instead.

 

They think he is infallible, secure, confident.

 

He isn’t, but he isn’t sure how to tell them.

 

The fact that he has to tell them, that they don’t see, etches a crack in his chest he doesn’t know how to mend.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Some days are just bad.

 

On some days, every single concern Kihyun has or ever has had about the industry comes back to haunt him and leaves him panicked in his bed, questioning what on earth he is doing, what he should do, how things turned out like this.

 

What _he_ can do to make everything better.

 

Whatever needs to be better.

 

It’s midnight and Kihyun isn’t even sure how it happened, but he finds himself alone in the kitchen of their dorms, and his head pounds, his muscles tremble, his throat feels raw and sore. He thinks about Minhyuk’s three lines in their newest song, Hyungwon being ignored in the last variety show so Kihyun could sing the chorus, about Hyunwoo and Hoseok being reduced to eye-candy with skimpy clothes and egregious stomach flashes, Jooheon, who’s too big for a group weighed down by anonymity and a lack of resources, and Changkyun, who never escaped the shadow of _No.Mercy_ despite their best efforts.

 

What has he done for all of them lately?

 

He has failed them.

 

They didn’t get the win, not this time either, and it burns.

 

The other members, who sacrificed so much so Kihyun could show off his vocals, the fans who were cheering for them… But he still didn’t do enough.

 

He is not narcissistic enough to believe that their success stands and falls on him just because he is the main vocal. No, they are a _group,_ and it is their combined efforts that make or break them. Minhyuk and Jooheon ace variety shows, and Kihyun delivers the vocal punchline in their songs. That’s just how it is.

 

And he didn’t do his job properly.

 

His heart pounds, quicker, heavier, and he can’t even say why but for this overwhelming sense of _terror,_ like he is trapped in an eternal circle of failure and disappointments that will eventually tear them all apart, beat them down, ruin everything they have done, and he saw it coming, should have seen it coming, anything – there was probably something he did or didn’t do that wasn’t enough.

 

He has to shake himself to remember that they are still around, still on the right side of successful, that his members are sleeping soundly in the rooms next door.

 

But what are they thinking about?

 

Do they regret not winning?

 

Did they see the comments?

 

Do they replay the frustrated comments from the management team over and over in their heads, as Kihyun does?

 

Do they remember every single mistake they made until this moment – all of them, _all_ of them?

 

Maybe they are just stronger than him, but oh god, he tried, he _tried so hard_ to block it all out, to let it bounce off as if he didn’t hear anything, but he’s been doing that for too long, and it doesn’t work anymore.

 

He hears every single piece of negative feedback he’s ever gotten, from his music teacher in primary school to K.Will on _No.Mercy,_ to the reviewers considering their debut album, the comment sections on their music shows, forums on NAVER, variety hosts –

 

Wasn’t there something good in-between all of that as well?

 

He used to be able to think about the good things as well.

 

Whatever they were.

 

He knows, objectively, that they aren’t bad – _he_ isn’t bad, they are good, they get praise, but –

 

They aren’t perfect.

 

_He’s just not enough._

 

Kihyun is only half-conscious about his actions when he leaves, in the middle of the night with only his phone and wallet and a thin spring jacket, without looking back.

 

He has to get away, just for a little while.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

A little while turns into two days, two days of wandering around with just his own thoughts to keep him company. His phone vibrates like crazy for the first ten hours, until he turns it off without checking any of the messages or calls. He can’t talk to any of them now, not his members, his coaches, managers. None of them.

 

He hasn’t calmed down enough.

 

They are going to scold him, tell him he’s being stupid, selfish and irresponsible, tell him to get back home, get back on stage, sing his lungs out to the waiting audience.

 

But he can’t.

 

He is just too tired.

 

He is too tired of never being enough – either he sings too much at the expense of his members, or he doesn’t sing well enough for the amount of lines he gets, or he doesn’t have the lung capacity to keep up with their choreography, he doesn’t sing the right way, he doesn’t have the face or the body and idol should have, he makes too many mistakes –

 

There is always something wrong and he doesn’t know what to do.

 

He finds himself at a tired convenience store to buy a small lunch, and as he stands by the cashier, his eyes drift to the rows of tiny cardboard boxes against the back wall.

 

He hasn’t smoked since his third month as a trainee, but he buys one anyway, because suddenly, doing something that doesn’t culminate in singing sounds like a welcome release.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

He goes to a coffee shop at night on the second day, awkwardly asks for a charger and taps into the Wi-Fi while sipping a large Americano.

 

They had a music stage today. He wasn’t there for it, and the guilt weighs down on him heavily because he knows he has a central part in this song, and his members don’t even know where he is.

 

He doesn’t know what they are doing without him.

 

Between Hyunwoo, Hoseok and Minhyuk, they could cover all his parts. They need emergency solutions, even if this is a set-up no one thought they would have to use. They have always just assumed that Kihyun would be there, ready to belt out his third of the song confidently, stable, dependable.

 

Apparently, he carries none of those traits anymore.

 

It’s a shameful admission, even to himself, but it’s his own fault, and he wonders, maybe he was never that good in the first place. Maybe he was just living on borrowed time, waiting until the inevitable crack first shook the foundations until he spilled all over.

 

But the humiliation is nothing against the knowledge that he betrayed his members.

 

They are the real victims in this situation, because he is just too scared and _selfish –_

He finds the video easily enough, and has to keep back audible sounds of distress as he watches the performance.

 

It’s a mess.

 

Kihyun can’t remember if they were supposed to use a playback during that show, but that’s what they ended up doing anyway. He sees Hyunwoo stumble forward to move his lips to words coming out with Kihyun’s voice, and then the awkward transition when Hoseok abandons his position in the choreography to continue the relay with someone else’s voice. And then they switch to their own parts and it all looks and sounds so completely wrong that Kihyun doesn’t even finish watching.

 

If they had the time, a warning, anything, they might have found a better way around it. But Kihyun didn’t give them anything, and instead, they are left with their original title track but a profoundly awkward performance.

 

If he didn’t screw up their group before, he certainly did now.

 

None of the members looked happy. Minhyuk didn’t smile, Jooheon didn’t have that extra edge to his raps that betrays his cheerful philosophy, and Hoseok didn’t smirk at the audience when he lifted his shirt towards the climax.

 

There was a black hole in the performance, one that anyone could pick out even if they weren’t familiar with Monsta X.

 

Kihyun supposes he should feel some sort of satisfaction in the knowledge that his absence is so prominent, that he really is that important to the group – as they all are, surely.

 

A year ago, he would have been pleased at that.

 

Now he just feels miserable.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

He is counting four days of wandering around by himself, sleeping in the subway stations, once in the park, once in a guest house, when he finds himself curled up against a castle in a primary school playground, in the middle of the night, and fighting of a panic attack.

 

Exactly why, he couldn’t say – it’s just the endless litany of fears and insecurities echoing through his head, the growing concern about repercussions of his return – because he _has_ to return at some point, even if he doesn’t want to. But he kind of does… A little bit. He wants to see the members again, but he doesn’t want to face them after leaving them so abruptly, and he feels like a coward, an incompetent, selfish coward –

 

He shakily scrolls down his contact list (short as it is – his parents, the members, company officers) until he finds the right one and pushes the call button.

 

There is a second or two of static while it rings, and Kihyun suddenly remembers that it’s the middle of the night, he might be asleep, he _should_ be asleep –

 

“Hello..?”

 

“Hoseok-hyung…”

 

“Kihyun! Where are you? Are you okay?”

 

He sounds so worried. Kind, dependable Hoseok, with a heart of gold and no restraints. Kihyun doesn’t want to hurt him, and he knows that he has, but he is also selfish, and he can’t return yet. He isn’t ready to face it all again.

 

“I’m – I’m alright,” he says thickly into the phone, tries to keep back the hitch in his breath and the little sobs still heaving through his chest. Hoseok can probably hear it all anyway, and Kihyun just wishes he could be stronger for them. They really deserve so much more.

 

“You don’t sound alright?” Hoseok says on the other end, not hysterically, but clearly distraught. “Kihyun, what’s going on? Where are you?”

 

“I’m just – “ what? He’s just what? Tired, frustrated, scared, confused? But he’s not the only one, he knows. The other members have their fair share of troubles too, and it’s not right for him to run off and leave them like this, without looking back and mindless of his responsibilities.

 

“I’m sorry, Hoseok-hyung.”

 

“Kihyun, please, tell me what’s going on!” Hoseok pleads, and Kihyun shakes his head even if Hoseok can’t see it. “You’re scaring me. Where have you been? Are you alone?”

 

“Yeah…” He’s alone. He doesn’t want to be alone, but he doesn’t want to go back to being an idol just yet. If that is the condition to see his members – he must stay like this for a little while longer.

 

“Hey, come on, talk to me, give me something!” Hoseok sounds wide awake now, and Kihyun briefly regrets calling him up in the first place, but it feels so nice and comforting to hear his voice, even if it shakes in distress and gives him strange instructions.

 

“No, I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called,” Kihyun shakes his head and tries to will himself to lower the phone and hang up. His arm refuses to move, frustratingly, and Kihyun feels the surge of frustration burn in his chest, the tears pressuring his eyes achingly.

 

“No, no, oh god, Kihyunnie, of course you should call, I – “ there is an odd noise on the other end, somewhere in between a squeak and a bang, but Hoseok doesn’t explain. “Don’t you dare hang up, talk to me. Tell me what’s up.”

 

“I don’t know what to tell you.” And he truly doesn’t. It’s too much and too little at the same time, and Hoseok is just – he is just too much, and Kihyun should leave him alone.

 

But he is selfish.

 

“Let me know where you are, I’ll come pick you up.” Now there is some rustling in the background, a couple of thumps, and Kihyun imagines Hoseok pulling on his sneakers hastily, throwing on someone’s jacket and looking for his subway card.

 

“No,” Kihyun says, and bites his lip as Hoseok makes a confused, or frustrated sound. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t.”

 

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

 

“I can’t come back yet,” Kihyun clarifies, and it somehow feels even worse to say it aloud. To Hoseok. Admitting it.

 

“Kihyun, everyone’s really worried! What’s the matter?”

 

“I just…. I don’t think I can do this anymore, hyung...” He picks at a loose thread on his jacket. It’s one of his old ones, bought shortly before debut, when he was still allowed to style himself and pick out his own clothes. It’s still his favourite, even if it is worn and old. “I know I shouldn’t say this and that it isn’t fair, but…. I’m just tired.”

 

“Hey, it’s alright, Kihyunnie,” Hoseok’s voice takes on a comforting, warm tone immediately, but Kihyun knows he is sincere. Hoseok cares too much. “Everyone’s pressured, we know, no one blames you for anything… Just come back home and we’ll work it out together.”

 

“No,” Kihyun says again, and he can’t hold back the loud sob when he thinks about everything waiting for him back at the dorms. Upset members, angry management – he disappeared for more than two days, he doesn’t even know what they will do – and then there is more of the same, long days, tiring days, expectations and demands, disappointment, critique, comments about how he is not handsome enough, not cute enough, not funny enough, not dancing well enough, not singing well enough, this and that and everything in between. He is the main vocal of an idol group, but the only thing he knows for sure is that he used to be good enough at singing.

 

There is too much doubt now, about everything.

 

“Seriously, Kihyun, where are you?” Hoseok demands again, and the thing is, Kihyun wants to tell him where he is, he wants Hoseok to come running so he can escape into strong arms and a familiar scent. But that also means that he would have to let Hoseok take him back afterwards, and he – he can’t do that.

 

“I’m so sorry, Hoseok-hyung,” he mutters into the speaker and tugs the phone away, clicking that red button even as he hears Hoseok’s protests on the other end.

 

He puts the phone in his pocket and switches it out for his new pack of cigarettes. Only a few sticks left now. He has been substituting meals for smokes, the nicotine cutting off his appetite and leaving him a bit lethargic instead, but that’s alright. It’s not like he feels terribly invigorated, anyway.

 

His fingers tremble when he puts the cigarette between his lips and tugs at the lighter. It ignites, eventually, and when he takes the first drag he feels the warm sensation wash over him like a relief, like the first time, and he lets his head fall backwards.

 

What a mess.

 

He is a mess.

 

He calls Yoongi while he works on the cigarette, for whatever reason – disturbing people’s sleep, maybe that’s what he’s actually good at.

 

“Wht?” Yoongi’s ineloquent speech outside of spitting raps never ceases to amaze Kihyun, and the sleep-riddled mumble is oddly endearing.

 

“Hey Yoongi,” he skips the formalities, as always with Yoongi, and his voice almost sounds steady. “Why is being an idol so hard?”

 

“Because you’re an idiot,” Yoongi groans with poorly concealed irritation. Kihyun almost smiles. “And a fucktard. Are you high?”

 

“No – “

 

“Then fuck off.” He hangs up.

 

Kihyun stares at his phone for a good minute before taking out another cigarette. He smokes it slowly, deliberately – teases himself with the damage it could do to his voice.

 

It was never perfect to begin with.

 

But that’s just how it is.

 

He takes out his phone again and types out a quick text before he can think twice about it.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

“Kihyun!”

 

Hoseok is there immediately, just like Kihyun imagined, and he envelops Kihyun in a tight embrace before either one of them can say anything else. The back of his hand presses Kihyun’s head into the crook between his neck and his shoulder, and it’s a little suffocating, but honestly Kihyun couldn’t care less.

 

He doesn’t cry often, and it never helps. It’s just a sign of weakness, defencelessness, frailty. It’s something he can’t afford, a vulnerability he refuses to expose to the world.

 

But right now, he cries.

 

He grips the sides of Hoseok’s shirt and he sobs, heavily and carelessly while Hoseok grips him tighter.

 

“Oh, Kihyunnie, Kihyunnie…” He mumbles, shaking his head back and forth slowly.

 

“I’m so sorry,” he tries to mumble into Hoseok’s neck, but it comes out as a garbled mess of incoherent sounds and messy sobs. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry – “

 

“No, shh, don’t worry about it,” Hoseok assures him, stroking comforting circles up and down his back in a calm rhythm. It’s soothing, almost too soothing, and Kihyun forgets the cold, forgets the hunger in his stomach, forgets the voices in his head calling him out for being a weak, selfish and imperfect bastard.

 

“Have you been smoking?” Hoseok asks quietly, without condemnation. He never would.

 

Kihyun nods quietly, but without lifting his head from Hoseok’s shoulder. He suspects the smell still lingers on his jacket, his hair, maybe even his breath.

 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, because he remembers Hoseok coaxing him to lay off even the occasional smoke during their trainee days, the two of them swearing fealty to sobriety just before the start of _No.Mercy_ , and he doesn’t want to betray that. But it’s far from the worst thing he has done recently, and Hoseok’s brittle little laugh seems to echo that sentiment.

 

“Too many apologies,” he says, tries to make it lighthearted, but Kihyun can hear the worry plain as day. “We can work it out later, yeah? We’ll be okay, you’ll be okay.”

 

Hoseok is crying too, because Hoseok always cries, but Kihyun doesn’t mind. It feels good, it feels normal, he feels – _appreciated._ As if all his flaws are insignificant. As if he is more than his failures.

 

“Okay,” he agrees eventually, and he allows himself to believe in Hoseok, because even if Hoseok isn’t perfect, he is the damn nearest thing to it Kihyun has ever known.

 

“I don’t think you realize – “ Hoseok starts, but then shakes his head and suddenly, he is clutching Kihyun a little bit tighter. “We were so worried, I wanted to call the police, but the management said to give it five days, and I… I just kept thinking about everything that could happen to you in five days. But don’t say you’re sorry!” He adds as soon as Kihyun starts to shift in his grip. “You’re not allowed to be, just… Let it be, okay? I just want you to know how much it means that you let me come out here to find you, after… Whatever this is.”

 

 _This_ is just Kihyun being stupid and having the emotional intelligence of a disgruntled teenager. He’s embarrassed, because he knows he shouldn’t be acting like this. He knows he’s taken things out of proportion, but he couldn’t help it. Not when all he saw was personal shortcomings, liabilities, hate, insufficiencies – not when _Kihyun_ suddenly had to include too much that couldn’t be contained within one poor entity, and he thinks, almost with a bitter irony, that he should have taken a stage name to hide behind, just to keep his sanity intact.

 

But, looking at Hoseok, it probably wouldn’t be enough.

 

Even though Hoseok and Wonho are different – Hoseok is gentle and kind where Wonho is cocky and enticing – they are similar enough for it all to blend seamlessly into the same persona, and when Wonho apologizes to Monbebes on camera, it’s Hoseok who’s crying, and even Kihyun struggles to tell them apart sometimes.

 

It makes his head hurt a little bit to think about, and before he even realizes what’s going on, he’s swaying in Hoseok’s arms, and he hears his name from a distance before realizing it’s still Hoseok.

 

“ – hyun! Hey, Kihyunnie, are you really okay?”

 

“Y-yeah…” He starts before mentally kicking himself. Enough of this. “No. I’m not… Okay, but… Maybe, we could go home?”

 

Hoseok has loosened his grip, and pulls back enough to look into Kihyun’s eyes, calculating, evaluating – _warm._

_Affectionate._

“Sure,” he says, smiling that beautiful, beautiful smile that is uniquely Hoseok. “We’ll go home.”

 

And he keeps his arm around Kihyun’s all the way back to the complex, steady, sure, like an anchor and it helps pushing away those insecurities, fears and worries for just a little while longer.

 

And when Kihyun falls asleep in the dorm that night, he pushes away the concerns until the morning, only a few hours away, and finds himself escaping the nightmares in Hoseok’s arms instead.

 

Just for a little while longer.

 

A little while longer until he has to become Kihyun, main vocal of Monsta X once more.

 

**Author's Note:**

> #letkihyunlive2k16
> 
> Obviously some things here are based on real events, while others are invented scenarios. Either way, lets hope he (and other members of the industry) do not have to suffer through similar treatment in the future.


End file.
